


Black Butler: Requiem

by Sougiya_Hara



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Mild Blood, Mild Language, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 05:36:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2337074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sougiya_Hara/pseuds/Sougiya_Hara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To sleep, perchance to dream. To wake, and find reality is not what you expected.  After becoming a demon in his own right, Ciel Phantomhive suddenly awakens in his own bed...as a normal human boy. Did he merely dream of another boy earl and his demon butler, or has he gone completely insane?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Butler: Requiem

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Black Butler: Requiem](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/74417) by Emby Quinn and Sougiya_Hara (writing as Yuugi Motoh). 



> This particular piece appeared in a slightly different form about a year ago, first as a CGI doujinshi, then in a written posting, co-authored by myself and Emby Quinn. (A link to the original webcomic version is listed near the top.) 
> 
> Unfortunately Emby has had a lot happen in the last year and has been unable to continue the series, so with her permission, I've *very* slightly revamped this story and now present it to you as the first in what we hope will be a trilogy. 
> 
> This is derived heavily from the second half of the first season and serves as an alternative to Kuroshitsuji II (which I have to confess I didn't like nearly as well, especially the ending.) No insult is meant to anyone who DID enjoy the second season.
> 
> As always, this is a fan fiction story based on 'Kuroshitsuji'. Neither I nor my co-author owns the series-specific characters (alas!). No copyright infringement is intended and this is a non-profit work of art.

 

 

_I wonder how you sleep_  
 _I wonder what you think of me_  
 _If I could go back_  
 _Would you have ever been with me?_

　

"And now, young master..."

*...go away...*

"...open your eyes."

*...leave me alone...*

"It's time to wake up now."

*...!...*

Ciel Phantomhive's eyes snapped open as if of their own accord, almost before he was even fully awake. He sat bolt upright in bed--in his own bedroom, surroundings that were familiar and should have felt perfectly safe--but something felt extraordinarily wrong about it. The disorientation he felt was so intense it frightened him, and almost before he realized it, he called out for the only source of stability he'd known in the last three years of his life.

"Sebastian!!"

He was immediately answered, the voice both near at hand and remarkably placid. "Do not distress yourself, young master. As always, I am here, where I should be, at your side."

Ciel turned sharply, the sense of disorientation only intensifying as his butler--tall, black-clad, with a gentle half-smile on his flawless features--stepped into his field of vision. Rather than being reassured by Sebastian's presence, it only seemed to intensify his turmoil. Something was terribly wrong, and he couldn't understand what, or why, but his heart was thumping hard in his chest and his whole body was covered in a thin film of cold sweat.

"Se...Sebastian..." Ciel stammered, grasping for some semblance of control. He struggled to shape random syllables into a coherent question, while Sebastian watched him with a look of mild.. amusement?...in his crimson eyes.

It was the amusement, more than anything, that finally tore the question--the demand--from Ciel's lips. "What the bloody hell is going on?!"

He almost screamed the words, with such force that it made him abruptly dizzy. The room whirled and went a sudden misty gray. He felt himself falling, only to be caught in a pair of long, slender arms that were far stronger than they should be.

"Young master!" The concern in Sebastian's voice was unmistakable, almost comforting, really. As he was settled back in the bed, Ciel heard his butler murmuring something about how rash and impulsive the young master was being, even for a child. He struggled to maintain awareness, muttering Sebastian's name, receiving an immediate answer. "I'm here, young master." Gentle now, that velvety voice. "As I am sworn to be."

Ciel felt himself laid back upon the down-filled pillows of his bed, the coverlet drawn up over his legs with infinite care by white-gloved hands. "Rest now, young master. Regain your strength. You have been ill for quite some time."

"...Ill?" Ciel forced his eyes open again, fighting to focus on retaining consciousness. He raised a shaky hand and rubbed his brow, feeling the slickness of sweat there. He was so confused still, unable to determine if what he was seeing or feeling was even real--

That was it.

Reality was out of joint, or seemed to be. His eyes should be burning, heightened by new awareness, his blood should be running cold, the nails of the hand he held up should be pitch-black--

He drew his hand from his face and stared at it, turning it from palm to back, and saw a perfectly ordinary and unremarkable hand. A human hand.

"Sebastian!"

The butler straightened up. "Young master?"

Ciel sat up in bed, new resolve giving him fresh strength. "Fetch me a mirror at once."

A puzzled look appeared on Sebastian's long face. "Sir, if I may be so bold...this is hardly the time to be fussing over your appeara--"

"Now." Ciel's tone brooked no argument, and he received none. With a brisk nod, Sebastian reached into the drawer of the nightstand and took out a round mirror the size of a dinner plate. Ciel snatched it from him and stared at his own reflection.

The face looking back at him was familiar, albeit pale and thinner at the cheeks than he remembered. The dark bangs were damp and stuck to the high white brow, and the eyes gazed back at him--one a dazzling blue, the other...

He reached a hand up to the cheek below his right eye, the one that bore the violet lines of the contract mark, the sigil burned onto his cornea three years ago by the touch of a demon who saved him from death, a demon who promised him revenge on his murdered parents, for his own violation, at the price of his soul.

The face looking back at him would be found attractive by most people, but was otherwise unremarkable. His eyes were not glowing red and slitted. His skin was not porcelain-pale. His parted lips revealed teeth that were perfectly even, with no evidence of fangs. Even if he couldn't trust his own feelings, the evidence he saw in the mirror was incontrovertible.

Ciel Phantomhive was not a newly-forged demon. He was, he remained, a human being. Apart from his marked eye, his was the face of a normal, well-bred thirteen-year-old English boy.

Another connection to reality seemed to break with an almost audible snap. Ciel had the sudden, intense dread that he had actually gone mad. The mirror slipped from his nerveless fingers and landed on the carpeted floor with a soft thump.

He drew in a long, shaky breath, closed his right eye, and laid his fingertips on the lid. "Sebastian...this is an order." He could feel his demon butler tense beside him, in preparation. "Tell me why I'm still alive."

He fixed a steady gaze on the man standing in front of him, who calmly proceeded to pour the tea--Earl Grey, by the smell of it. "It was a near thing, young master. Having been shot, the resultant blood loss, falling into the Thames...you were barely alive when I got you to the hospital. You've been in a coma for over a month." Sebastian added sugar and a touch of cream to the cup, stirring briskly. "Fortunately for you, sir, there was a visiting physician specialising in a revolutionary technique called intravenous therapy. Using this method, you managed to receive nutrition even in your somnolent state." The silver spoon clinked quietly as Sebastian laid it on the tray. "By the time you were stabilised, the mansion had been rebuilt, and you were moved here. It was believed that familiar surroundings might speed your recovery." He picked up the cup and saucer and turned smoothly, taking a single step closer to the bed. You've been through a terrible ordeal, my lord, but it's over now." And he offered the tea to Ciel.

The Limoges cup was rudely slapped from his hands, spilling its contents on the expensive Turkish rug. Ciel swung his legs off the bed and fisted his hands in the disarrayed covers. "That's not what I meant, damn your eyes! I was a demon, Sebastian. How can I be human again?"

"A demon, my lord?" Sebastian looked genuinely amused. "An intriguing concept, but quite impossible, I assure you. You could no more become a demon than I could become truly human." His gaze turned thoughtful. "It must have been a very disturbing dream."

"...a...dream...?"

Sebastian nodded quietly. "The dreams of coma patients can be very vivid and convincing. Upon waking, there is bound to be a certain level of confusion. But rest assured, my lord--" Sebastian waved a hand about the bedroom, indicating the world beyond the curtained French doors--"this is reality."

Ciel took a moment to absorb the butler's words. Sebastian wouldn't--couldn't--lie to him, and his very tone carried the conviction of truth. "So. Alois Trancy. Claude. Hannah. All of it...everything that happened was just..." He trailed off, at a loss for words.

"A magic lantern show, master." Sebastian bent down to retrieve the empty teacup and saucer. "The fever dreams of a troubled mind and nothing more."

Ciel searched his memories, reaching farther back in his perceptions of time. "What about...what about the boat, Sebastian? The island? The ruined castle. Were those just 'fever dreams' as well?"

Sebastian stood with the Limoges in his hands, his face solemn. "No, my lord. Those events transpired in a place that is not a place, and a time that is not a time." He set the cup and saucer back on the silver tray and fixed his master with a quiet stare. "Although it did not happen in this world, it was nevertheless quite real."

"So why am I still here?" Ciel demanded. "Why didn't you eat my soul?"

Sebastian's gaze dropped, and he knelt to dab at the spilled tea on the rug with his handkerchief. For a moment it seemed that he wouldn't answer, but before Ciel could order him to, he spoke. "The only answer I can provide at the moment, sir, is that it was not the appropriate time to terminate the contract."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ciel scowled at him. "Sebastian, what kind of game are you playing at now?"

Sebastian rose gracefully to his feet, and a narrow smile played across his lips. "A game, young master? It has always been my perception that you are most fond of games..."

The casual flippancy of the butler's tone, so close to insolence, enraged the young earl. Suddenly he despised the man--the demon--standing in front of him with every fiber of his being. "Get out."

The smile dropped off of Sebastian's face, replaced with a look of genuine puzzlement. "Sir?"

"Get out of my room. Get out of my sight." Ciel's voice shook with barely-contained fury. "When I want you, if I want you, I will summon you."

The placid mask dropped into place again, and Sebastian bowed deeply. "Very good, sir. Please get some rest. You should not attempt to get out of bed--"

"Shut up!!" The shout made Ciel's temples ache, but he didn't care. "Shut up and get the hell out of here now! Get out! Get out!!"

Sebastian laid a finger over his lips, turned away, and slipped out the door, closing it softly behind him.

The bubble of Ciel's temper burst, leaving him empty and drained. He dropped his face into his hands, his eyes burning now not with the fire of a demon's gaze, but with the effort not to shed sudden and unwelcome tears. Against his palms, he muttered, "Get out and leave me alone."

* * * *

_I want you to be uneased_  
 _I want you to remember_  
 _I want you to believe in me_  
 _I want you on my side_

　

The rose garden was incomparably lovely at night. The fresh green leaves were almost translucent in the glow from the silver-blue moon overhead, and the blossoms themselves seemed to shine with a soft radiance. The evening was quiet, the only sound being the soft whisper of dress shoes over well-swept cobblestones.

The demon cared little for the beauty around him, rejoiced not a bit in the perfection of the vista so carefully cultivated. Although outwardly tranquil, his thoughts were as chaotic and cacophonic as the deepest depths of the wailing abyss he had once called home. The peace around him did nothing to quiet his inner conflict.

He plucked one of the Sterling Silver roses, imported from China for the Earl's pleasure, and brushed its silken petals across his mouth. The texture reminded him of a cat's paws...and of the feel of the Earl's smooth cheek.

Of the riot of clamoring and unwelcome emotions and impressions within him, there was no surprise whatsoever. In truth, he should have anticipated no less of his master. Ciel Phantomhive possessed wisdom and perception far beyond his tender years, and it was only to be expected that he would ask the one question his butler couldn't answer...even to his own satisfaction.

_Why am I still alive? Why didn't you eat my soul?_

The answer was as simple as it was unsatisfactory: Sebastian didn't know.

He remembered the moment on the Isle of the Dead all too clearly. Ciel had been ready, resigned, almost eager for the end of it. Sebastian could feel the soft ebb of his life, could sense the surrender of the soul he'd spent three long years cultivating, preparing, seasoning to his own taste. He'd bent to touch his lips to those of his young master, ready to draw Ciel's precious soul out of his frail, broken body and assimilate it into the intricate pattern of his own being, as he'd done so many times before, with each of his previous masters and mistresses. So tantalizing, so deliciously perfect, he prepared to dine.

And then...he'd hesitated. Instead of devouring the longed-for soul, he'd frozen in place, unable to do anything but hold his position as Ciel's last breath whispered into his mouth.

Something like panic had seized him then. Ciel was, quite literally, standing at death's door, ready to take that last step beyond, where his soul--where he--would be forever beyond Sebastian's reach.

With a tremendous effort of will, Sebastian had caught hold of that radiant soul, seizing it in the moment of departure and refusing to let it leave the battered form clasped in his arms. Abandoning the Isle of the Dead, he'd run as fast as his racing thoughts back across the waters, back from the shadows onto the even more troubled surface of the Thames, from the crossroads of reality to the mortal world, propelled by a desperation he'd never known before in all his long existence. All other considerations had evaporated before the single, driving compulsion to keep Ciel Phantomhive alive at all costs. Not caring who saw him, not caring who he trampled or pushed aside, he'd burst into the hospital with the dying boy in his arms, shouting--bellowing!--for a doctor to attend the Earl Phantomhive now. At once!

It had been a near thing indeed, just as he'd told his young lord. Holding that soul to the dying body, forcing it to cling to the fragile flesh until the physicians could stabilise the waning heartbeat and restore the fading breath, staunch the bleeding and close the wounds. How fortunate that an American physician had been visiting the hospital at the time of the crisis, and was able to give the Earl fluids through tubes and needles that pierced his thin arms. Over the weeks that followed, Sebastian had watched over his master like a dark angel, barely moving from his side. The nursing staff had admired his utter devotion, his constant vigil, completely unaware of the conflict that was raging unseen behind the quiet face, the brooding eyes.

Even after returning to the restored mansion, Sebastian had tended Ciel's unresponsive body, waiting for the moment when the youth's consciousness began to return. And tonight, at last, he had awakened.

And asked the question Sebastian couldn't answer.

_Why didn't you eat my soul?_

It wasn't a violation of the contract to postpone its fulfillment. He'd done so more than once in the past, deliberately procrastinating, playing with his food, teasing his prey the way a cat would play with a mouse. He could delay the final moment as long as it pleased him to do so.

But the delay didn't please him, not this time. He wasn't toying with Ciel. He didn't want to delay. He wanted Ciel's soul with all his black and tainted heart. And yet. And yet.

_Why the hell can't I finish it?!_

He felt a vague stinging in his palm, and realised that he'd clenched the rose in his fist so hard the thorns had pierced his glove and buried themselves in his flesh. He opened his hand and studied the spreading stains of blood which showed quite black in the soft moonlight against the white cotton.

He cast the broken rose aside and tugged off the soiled glove with his teeth, letting it fall to the cobblestones. Thoughtfully he sucked at the blood on his hand, trying to make some sense of his actions..and his lack of one particular action.

Was it because he could only consume Ciel's soul once? The perfect meal, the feast of a millenia-long lifetime, taken and gone in an instant? That would be the ultimate joke, wouldn't it? That he'd prepared a meal so perfect he couldn't bear to eat it.

Not that he didn't want to. He craved the taste of Ciel Phantomhive's soul, the fire, the passion. He wanted to draw that into his own being, incorporate it into the tapestry of souls he'd woven for himself from his previous experiences. He had every right to that soul, and he certainly hadn't lost his appetite for it. Angela had been right about that. He was, indeed, beyond ravenous.

He could go back into that bedroom, as soon as Ciel summoned him again, and take what was rightfully his.

And he knew full well he wouldn't do it.

He couldn't help but chuckle at himself as he turned to leave the garden. He wondered idly if, after all this time, he had finally gone mad.

* * * *

Ciel Phantomhive couldn't sleep.

He lay staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom. No matter how many times he went over the situation, it made no sense to him. He'd offered up his soul to Sebastian, only to have the demon turn away from what he'd bargained to achieve. Instead of the peace of oblivion, he'd awakened from a nightmare to an aching, weakened body, and Sebastian serving him just as he always had.

_The only answer I can provide at the moment, sir, is that it was not the appropriate time to terminate the contract._

Not the appropriate time? It made no sense, yet Sebastian couldn't lie to him. Was it possible that Sebastian was simply delaying the inevitable, tormenting him for his own amusement? That was the sort of thing a demon would be expected to do, but...it didn't feel right, somehow.

_Am I just not good enough? Doesn't he want my soul anymore?_

Oh, now that was just pathetic. Worthy of that idiot Trancy, if he'd been real. A strange sort of relief, that. No such person existed. No ripping of his soul from his body, no lingering amnesia; no battle for his body, no transformation into a demon, no eternity with Sebastian enslaved and regarding him with empty, sullen, despairing eyes.

No, Sebastian never lied, certainly not to Ciel. So then, it hadn't been the appropriate time--whatever that meant. Yet..yet it was supposed to be over. The murder of his parents had been avenged, the angel and the wicked Queen were dead, and now...

_I have nothing left to live for._

That was what was really bothering him, wasn't it? The closure he'd craved had been denied him, and a future he'd never wanted now stretched out before him, a blank canvas the emptiness of which terrified him.

_What am I supposed to do?!_

One thing was certain: he would never find any answers lying in bed staring at the ceiling. He pushed himself up, swung his feet to the floor, and braced himself to stand. He would have to get dressed, which meant he'd need to call Sebas--

No.

He wouldn't summon his demon butler. He didn't want to see that pale, mocking face, those unreadable eyes. At this moment, he didn't care if he never saw Sebastian Michaelis again.

He didn't need Sebastian's help anyway. He didn't need anyone. He might not be able to dress himself--not properly, anyway--but even he could get up and put on a dressing gown on his own, thank you. He'd go and find one of the other servants, preferably Tanaka, who was at least competent, if severely weakened. Tanaka would look after him. Ciel pushed himself up off the bed to his feet and collapsed at once to the floor.

For a heart-stopping moment, Ciel was certain he was paralysed. Then he cautiously checked his legs. He could feel them, right enough, and they moved at the command of his brain. No, not paralysed; but too weak to bear his own weight. He dimly remembered, as a child, when he'd stayed in bed for two weeks due to a particularly bad bout of asthma, how hard it had been to stand up at first, being carried about by his father until his legs had regained their strength.

He shifted and grasped the bed-post, trying to pull himself to his feet. It was no good. He couldn't marshal the strength to get back into bed, either. He couldn't even reach the bell-pull that would summon Tanaka or one of the other servants. He was absolutely, utterly, wretchedly helpless. Either he lay here, on the carpet, until someone found him...or...

"Damn it all to mother-buggering hell!" Ciel screamed at the top of his voice, half hoping his outburst would bring one of the servants running.

Time passed.

No one came.

Head bowed, Ciel finally gave in and whispered through gritted teeth, "Sebastian. Come here."

"Yes, young master?" Just there, without so much as the sound of a door being opened. "How may I serve you?"

"You've got eyes, haven't you?" Ciel snarled. "Get me off the bloody floor."

"Of course, sir. It can't be very comfortable sprawled there on the carpet." Ciel cringed from Sebastian's touch, but didn't resist as he was lifted up and placed back on the bed. "There you are, sir, safely settled." A white-gloved hand patted his shoulder. "You will remember, my lord, I did advise you not to get out of b--"

Ciel's slapped Sebastian on one side of his face, then the other, obliterating the butler's condescending expression and leaving him looking stunned at having had his ears boxed. It offered Ciel a grim sort of satisfaction.

"Keep your observations to yourself," Ciel said between his teeth, "or I'll order you to rip your tongue out of your mouth."

Astonishment briefly flickered across Sebastian's features, but the look was quickly replaced by his normal pleasant, placid mask. "Yes," he said, "my lord."

The fact that the demon had looked almost...cowed?...seemed to mollify Ciel somewhat. He held out his arms. "Well, since you're here, you might as well dress me."

"Certainly, young master." Sebastian proceeded to do just that. "By the way, if you're up to a bit of reading, there are letters for you, sir. Shall I fetch them for you?"

"No. I want to go to my study." Suddenly Ciel wanted out of the bedroom, away from the place he'd lain for so long. He needed to be doing something, anything, besides lying in bed.

Sebastian opened the nightstand and took out the familiar black silk eyepatch. "Certainly, sir, if my lord feels strong enough." With deft fingers he secured the patch in place, tying it behind Ciel's ears. "It would be best not to overtire yourself."

"What did I tell you about your opinions?" warned Ciel.

"I was not expressing my personal views, young master, merely stating fact." Gently Sebastian removed his hands after ensuring the ties were secure. "I would be remiss in my duties as your butler if I allowed you to push yourself too hard."

Ciel considered this, and found nothing to criticise in it. He gave a slight nod to acknowledge the truth of Sebastian's words.

Sebastian smiled slightly and stood. "With that caution duly delivered, I shall take you to the study." And he turned towards the door, leaving Ciel sitting on the edge of the bed.

Ciel couldn't help but smile a little. "Sebastian? Aren't you forgetting something?"

Sebastian glanced back over his shoulder. "I forget nothing, my lord. I merely have to open the door."

And as soon as he did so, three figures fell face-first into the room. Bardroy had the easiest time of it; he landed atop the pile of servants. Mey-Rin had the breath knocked out of her as the large-framed chef fell on top of her, and Finnian, the smallest of the trio, ended up on the bottom.

Sebastian studied the writhing knot of arms and legs at his feet, and then said, quite calmly: "Finnian, Bardroy, Mey-Rin...do get up. This is not suitable conduct for Phantomhive servants."

He finally had to reach down and haul Bardroy off the other two, pushing him aside to lift Mey-Rin gently to her feet (she blushed furiously at his touch). Finnian he left to his own devices, and the gardener scrambled up, adjusting his straw hat and grinning widely.

Bardroy beamed at the young Earl, not bothering to try and hide his delight. "It's good to see you awake, your lordship!"

Mey-Rin was almost in tears, but she too was smiling. "Been that worried about you, yes we have, sir!"

Finnian was dancing from one foot to the other, clapping his hands together like a child half his years. "You'll be right as rain in no time, master!"

Ciel didn't know what to make of this display, but he was certainly not displeased. After a moment's pause, he said, "Your concern is...appreciated." He cleared his throat, and his next words were spoken more sternly, in a familiar voice of command. "Now don't you lot have work to do?"

Bardroy saluted like the soldier he'd once been; Mey-Rin bowed almost double; Finnian actually got down on his hands and knees in obeisance. "YES SIR!" they chorused, then turned and charged out the door, their running footsteps clamoring down the hallway and the stairs beyond.

Sebastian chuckled softly. "Those three...what they lack in competence, they certainly make up for in enthusiasm." Turning, he approached the bed, held out his arms. "Now, sir...if I may...?"

Ciel heaved a sigh of resignation. "Just...get it over with."

"Of course, sir. I am, as ever, at your command." Sebastian gathered Ciel up in his arms and carried him out of the bedroom into the hall.

Ciel held his silence as Sebastian carried him downstairs, but as they approached the study doors, he found himself compelled to ask, "Sebastian, I couldn't help but notice one of my servants seems to be missing. Where is Tanaka?"

Sebastian stopped just in front of the door. "Regretfully, young master, Tanaka is no longer with us."

"You mean he's dead."

"Yes, sir. Tanaka perished in the manor fire, but not before he ensured the other servants escaped the blaze. He was a true Phantomhive butler to the end."

There was something in Sebastian's voice that brought a wry smile to Ciel's lips, despite his sorrow at the unwelcome news. "It's funny...you almost sound sorry for his loss."

"Do I, young master?" Sebastian considered this. "Perhaps, in my way, I am. Despite his years and frailty, Tanaka was fairly remarkable...for a mere human. But he is quite dead, and we must concern ourselves with the living..." He nodded his head, and the study doors opened before him. "For the moment, in any case." Without another word, he carried Ciel into the study.

The shaded lamp cast a warm golden glow over the room. The top of the large mahogany desk was uncommonly bare, clean of its usual stacks of papers and notices. Ciel picked up the copy of the evening Times and accepted the fresh cup of tea offered to him without a glance towards his servant. Even a month after the event, the fire--or, rather, its aftermath--was still front-page news.

"The rebuilding of London seems to be progressing more quickly than anticipated." One blue eye cut over to the tall black-clad figure standing beside the desk. "I don't suppose that's anything to do with you, is it?"

Sebastian gave a single shake of his head. "I haven't been to London since bringing you home from hospital, sir. Since then I have been wholly occupied with your care and the upkeep of the household."

Ciel's visible eye narrowed. "In other words, you wouldn't stoop to actually helping innocent people, would you?"

"Would you have expected me to do so, my lord?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Ciel scanned the rest of the newspaper, found nothing of interest, and laid it aside. "Earlier you said there were letters. Surely no one would try to conduct business with me while I was insensible..."

"You are correct, my lord. Nevertheless, someone did write to you nearly every day." Sebastian reached into one of the capacious desk drawers and drew out a tall stack of cream-coloured envelopes, bound together by a pink silk ribbon. "Quite faithfully, in fact." He set the bundle in front of his master. "Doubtless you recognise the seal."

Ciel looked at the back of the topmost envelope for a moment. Rose-coloured sealing wax, with an unmistakable heart shape to the design, framing a delicately scripted monogram: EM.

"Elizabeth."

"There are fifty-two letters in this bundle, sir. It will take most of the evening to--"

"Summarize them," Ciel ordered, cutting him off. "Then I'll read the latest one."

A gloved hand slammed down atop the stack of letters, making Ciel jump despite himself. He looked up, startled, to see Sebastian's face mere inches from his own, smiling down at him with a look in his eyes that was impossible to interpret. "As you wish, young master."

In a pleasantly dry voice, Sebastian recited the salient points of six weeks' worth of correspondence. The Midford estate hadn't been damaged by the fires, although some of their nearer neighbors had suffered losses. Elizabeth also had a new maidservant. Paula, it seemed, had fallen in love with a merchant ship captain, and with the Lady's permission had left her place to marry and move to America. The Marchioness had engaged a new maidservant for her daughter, to whom Elizabeth was now quite attached. Her brother, Lord Edward, was away at school in Weston College, and doing well with his studies.

"Most of the remaining content of the letters is of a much more personal nature," Sebastian went on. "Concerns for your health, prayers for your recovery, how much she misses your company--that sort of thing. I'm sure she will be delighted to know that you've awakened, master. I shall send word in the morning--"

"No."

Sebastian blinked. "My lord?"

Ciel slammed a small white fist down on the desktop. "For pity's sake, Sebastian! Look at me. I can't walk. I can't even stand on my own. I'm no better than a cripple."

"Your condition is temporary, my lord. Once you regain your strength--"

"Once I do," Ciel interrupted, "then we can send word to Elizabeth. I don't want her to see me like this." He shut his eyes tight. "It's...disgraceful."

Ciel seemed resolute, yet Sebastian felt impelled to try to make him see sense. The young master was, after all, a reasonable man...under most circumstances. "Word is bound to reach her sooner or later, my lord. Wouldn't it be better if she heard the news from you?"

"I'll be the judge of that, thank you." Ciel held up one hand. "Let me see the latest letter."

Of course, the bundle was sitting right in front of him, within easy reach, but without batting an eye Sebastian pulled out the topmost envelope. "It arrived just this morning, shortly before you awakened."

Ciel slit open the cream-colored envelope and drew out a sheet of pink vellum. It was covered top to bottom with an unmistakably feminine cursive.

_My darling Ciel,_

_What a lovely morning it is! The sky is a perfectly splendid blue and it's quite warm, but not too hot. How I wish you could see it. It would be a perfect afternoon for a picnic, or perhaps to go riding. How I miss you Ciel!_

_I dreamt of you last night. You were walking in a shadowy wood and I was running after you, barefoot and in my nightgown. Isn't that silly? I called and called for you, because I knew you were going to be in the most terrible danger if I didn't stop you, but I couldn't catch you up, and you didn't even seem to hear me. I shouted so loudly I woke myself up. Of course, Madeleine was there, and she comforted me, but I couldn't get back to sleep afterwards._

_I had the most upsetting conversation with Mother yesterday afternoon. We read a letter from Edward--remember, I told you he was back at Weston--and he said you might never wake up at all, that you might just slip away. What a horrid thing to say! But worst of all, Mother said I would have to consider that he might be right. I won't give up on you, Ciel. I know you're going to be all right._

_Please, if you read this letter today, please write me back. I do so want to see you again. You must come back to me, my darling. If anything should happen to you, I think I should die myself. So you simply must get well!_

_All my love, always,_  
 _Your Lizzie_

The last two paragraphs were difficult to read. There were several places where the writing-ink had been blurred by a scattering of smudges where the ink had run. Ciel read over the last paragraph several times. He tried hard to convince himself that Lizzie was being her usual, demonstrative, overemotional self, but it didn't ease the prickles of conscience those small round tearstains elicited.

"Master? Are you all right?" A gloved hand touched lightly on his tensed shoulder. "You look distressed."

Without looking up, Ciel slapped the hand rudely away. "I'm fine. Clear away the tea; I've had enough."

"Yes, sir." Sebastian picked up the half-full teacup and set it on the tray. As he took it from the desk, Ciel stopped him with another order.

"And...bring me my stationery set." Under his breath, he muttered, "I have a letter to write."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sebastian glance back over his shoulder. "At once, my lord."

If he'd been within reach Ciel would have been happy to slap that self-satisfied smirk off the demon butler's face.

* * * *

After a month and a half of intravenous feeding, Ciel was anxious to eat proper food, but Sebastian insisted on feeding him light, bland fare. Breakfast was usually a sumptuous affair, being after all the most important meal of the day. Longingly Ciel thought of honey-cured ham, county sausage, fried whiting...while being forced to nibble on dry toast and apple jelly, washed down with milk-laden tea. He'd raged at his butler until reminded that his stomach was not yet ready for richer stuff, and presented with the prospect of spending the entire morning bent over a chamberpot spewing his guts out, Ciel reluctantly acquiesced to the light meal presented to him.

The morning was spent composing business correspondence, announcing the recovery of the head of the Fun-Tom company. After an equally light luncheon, word arrived by special messenger that the Earl's fiancee would be visiting that very afternoon for tea. This, of course, occasioned its own special preparations.

"Bear up, master..you're nearly there."

Sebastian's words of encouragement meant nothing to Ciel. He was too busy concentrating on willing his weakened extremities into bearing his own slight weight. He clutched at his cane with a death-grip as he fought to stand upright, a fight that ultimately proved futile. Despite his struggles, his knees buckled beneath him and he fell face-first to the floor.

Above where he sprawled, Sebastian consulted his pocket-watch. ""Well done, my lord. With the aid of your cane, you managed to keep your feet for seven and three-quarter seconds."

Ciel glared at him from his undignified position. "Are you just going to stand there?"

"You did insist that I not catch you if you fell, sir." Having made this point, Sebastian knelt and effortlessly scooped his young lord up from the floor.

Ciel's flash of anger evaporated, replaced by a sudden weariness. "Oh, this is pointless, Sebastian. I can't stand for more than a handful of heartbeats. I can't walk at all."

Sebastian settled him in an armchair. "Patience, my lord. Your muscles are weak from long disuse. It will take time for you to regain your strength."

"I don't have time. Elizabeth will be here within the hour. I won't let her see me on an invalid's couch."

"I think I have a solution, master." Quick-footed and graceful as always, Sebastian nipped out of the parlour and returned just as quickly, pushing a construct that looked like nothing more or less than a padded chair with wheels on.

"No." Ciel's rejection of the very concept use of such a contraption was immediate and absolute. "Sebastian, I will not ride about in that thing!"

Sebastian cocked his head to one side. "Would you like me to carry you, sir? I'm sure Lady Elizabeth would find it endearingly cute should I do so."

Ciel raised his vitriolic glare from the wheelchair to his butler. He drew in a long, slow breath and, on the exhalation, breathed, "I...hate...you."

Sebastian beamed down at him with a smile on his face that could only be described as beatific.

* * * *

The trim little carriage had barely stopped in front of the gates of the Phantomhive estate when small feet clad in low-heeled pink patent leather boots struck the paved walkway and scurried across well-known paths to the courtyard. Long before she came into sight, her joyous cry of "CIIIIEEEELLLLLL!!!!" announced the arrival of Lady Elizabeth Ethel Cordelia Midford.

Her charge came to an abrupt halt at the sight of her beloved fiance, small and pale and sitting in...oh, horrors!...an invalid's bath chair. Her green eyes widened, her breath caught in her throat, and a hand fluttered to her lips to stifle her cry of dismay.

Ciel was sitting in the wheelchair, his legs crossed, and his chin leaning on his hand, striving his best to look as casual and unaffected as possible, and succeeding not a whit. "Now, Elizabeth," he chided gently, "don't take on so. I'm fine."

"Oh, Ciel..." Elizabeth rushed forward and went down on her knees in front of the wheelchair. "Fine?! You're not fine, you're in a wheelchair!" A small sob chocked her voice. "Are you a cripple now, Ciel? How awful!"

"Lizzie, I--"

""You won't be able to dance, or ride, or--or anything!"

"Honestly, it isn't--"

"My poor crippled darling!" Elizabeth's green eyes filled with tears of deep and heartfelt pity.

"Elizabeth!!" Ciel was shocked beyond his ability to articulate. He'd expected histrionics from his betrothed, but her insistence on calling him a cripple raked against his nerves like a steel file. None of his interruptions seemed to stem the flow of mingled love, pity and unflagging determination to make him feel as helpless as possible.

His eyes cut towards Sebastian, who stood at his side, unruffled and--damn him--faintly amused at the spectacle. "Sebastian," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth as Elizabeth continued to carry on, "aren't you going to say something?"

Sebastian leaned over and whispered quietly in the Earl's ear. "It would be improper for me to speak, my lord, before you greeted your other guests."

"What? What other--" For the first time, Ciel realised that Elizabeth had been followed into the courtyard. Two complete strangers stood at a respectful distance. The first was a young woman of about twenty, with very fair hair and eyes of a delicate pale blue. The other was a man of medium height, probably in his forties, wearing a vicar's garb and a gentle expression. "Who...?"

Elizabeth left off her recitations of devotion to her "crippled darling" and turned to follow Ciel's gaze. "Oh, what a goose I am, really! Ciel, this is the Reverend Edward Clement. He's the one who recommended Madeleine to Mother."

The vicar came forward and shook Ciel's hand with a firm, respectful grip. "Your Lordship."

"Reverend Clement." More out of politeness than anything else, Ciel offered, "Would you care to stay for tea?"

Clement shook his head with a slight smile. "I wouldn't wish to intrude on your reunion with your lady. Besides, I have work to do in the area." He stepped back with a brief, crisp bow. "I only stopped by to give you my regards. I'm certain we'll meet again soon."

 _Don't count on it,_ Ciel did not respond. Since the deaths of his parents, he had no use for churches and had only been in one once, for Madam Red's funeral. But he smiled and gave Clement a courteous nod.

Clement bowed to Elizabeth and turned away. As he passed the maid, he murmured "Be a good girl, Madeleine..."

Sebastian couldn't help but notice the brief but unmistakable look of scorn the girl gave the vicar's retreating back.

Elizabeth laid a hand gently on the back of Ciel's wheelchair. Her green eyes were radiant with love and pity. "Shall I turn your chair to face the table, my poor crippled darling?"

"No." Ciel's hands fisted on the arms of the chair. "And I am not a cripple, Lizzie." Steeling himself, he put his feet on the marble flagstones of the patio and pushed himself up out of the chair.

"Oh, Ciel, do be careful! You'll fall and hurt yourself!" Elizabeth took a step forward, reaching out her hands to him.

At the same time, Sebastian moved to take hold of Ciel's shoulders. "Young master--"

"Don't you dare try to help me!" Ciel's roared directive was meant for Sebastian, but Elizabeth shrank back as well, recoiling from the rage in his voice even though it was directed not at her, but at his own quivering legs as they threatened to give way. He clutched at the tea table, pulling himself forward and forcing his legs to shift while still bearing him up. "Leave it, Elizabeth..." he grunted, seeing the stark dismay in her expression. "I...will...do this."

With a final groan, he dropped himself into one of the white iron chairs. His face was covered with sweat, but he managed to give Elizabeth a radiant smile. "There...you see, Lizzie?" he said between labored breaths. "I'm not...a cripple...at all."

Elizabeth stood stunned, staring down at Ciel without being able to say a word. She knew how long he'd been ill, and her own mother had warned her that Ciel would likely be frail for the rest of his life...but despite his obvious struggle to move on his own, despite the way he was trembling with expended effort even now, Ciel didn't seem frail in the least.

She jumped as the chair beside her was pulled smoothly from the table. "Allow me, my lady," Sebastian said quietly, gently. "Won't you make yourself comfortable?"

Elizabeth flashed a smile of pure gratitude to Sebastian and took her own time in settling herself in the chair, struggling to regain her composure. "I've missed you so, Ciel," she began as he reached for the teapot to pour for them. "I was just saying to--oh! But I must introduce you to Madeleine!"

"What?" Ciel paused with the teapot held over Elizabeth's cup. "You don't 'introduce' servants, Lizzie." From the tone of his voice it was clear that he found the very idea absurd.

"Oh but she's almost like family, really." Elizabeth beckoned to the young woman waiting on the path. "Come, Madeleine, don't be shy!"

Small satin-slippered feet crossed the marble flagstones with barely a whisper of footsteps. Elizabeth's new maidservant was tall, though not ungainly. She wore a simple blue dress, beribboned and frothed with lace--far grander than a lady's maid would normally wear, but this was likely Elizabeth's choice of attire, since she insisted on surrounding herself with things that she considered "cute". Even the maid's hair was elaborately done, with two neat buns in the back and ribbon-bound side-tails in the front, with a curve of fringe above the china-blue eyes.

Elizabeth sat up straight, as though she were introducing an acquaintance instead of a servant. "Madeleine Demandols, this is the Right Honorable Earl Ciel Phantomhive."

"Your Lordship." Madeleine dropped a curtsey worthy of a royal personage, lowering her eyes demurely. "I am most delighted to make your acquaintance." Her voice was soft, almost a whisper and yet not difficult to discern. It did not suggest timidity, but rather a deep respect for the Earl--for his station, his title, and for his own person as well.

"Miss Demandols," Ciel responded with a nod, playing along with Elizabeth's conceit, though he still felt slightly ridiculous. Introduced to a servant, the very idea! He watched as the maid stood up once more, her head still respectfully bowed. "Well," he said, "her manners are pretty enough."

"Oh, she's a treasure," Elizabeth gushed. "Reverend Clement brought her over from the Ursulines convent in France. I honestly don't know how I could have managed all these weeks without her."

"If it please my lady," Madeleine said in her sweet, soft voice, "shall I wait in the carriage for you?"

"Oh, that would be entirely too boring...wait, I know! I want you to be familiar with the grounds, since we're going to be visiting often. Sebastian--" Elizabeth turned to the butler--"would you be kind enough to show Madeleine about the estate while Ciel and I have our tea?"

Sebastian exchanged looks with the Earl. "Young master...?"

Ciel turned away and waved his hand dismissively. "Go on. If I need you for anything, I'll summon you."

Sebastian nodded and turned to Madeleine with his most charming, endearing smile--an expression that had been known to make nuns surrender their vows of chastity. "Well then, my lady," he said, extending his hand, "may I escort you?"

Madeleine didn't move. She looked at Sebastian's hand as though he were holding a viper--no, as though the hand itself were something which would strike her dead if she allowed it to touch her.

Sebastian hesitated only a beat before gesturing with that same hand to indicate that she proceed him. "After you, Miss Demandols."

She relaxed slightly and nodded with thinly-veiled gratitude. "Thank you, Mr. Michaelis."

Ciel's visible eye narrowed as he watched them walk away. He hadn't missed the exchange, and he wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. But with Lizzie bubbling effusively at him across the table, now was hardly the time to contemplate such things.

* * * *

"The roses in the master's garden are a cultivar specific to the house, hybridized from a Chinese import and a cutting from the Rosa Alba, the White Rose of York. This particular breed of rose, the Sterling Silver, was cultivated by the Earl's great-grandfather, and is notable for the size and proliferation of the blooms as well as for the delicacy of the flowers' perfume." Sebastian glanced at the young woman who walked beside him, who gave him a slight nod to show she was listening to him, but said not a word. She had kept her silence since they'd left the patio, showing mild interest in Sebastian's detailing of the glories of the Phantomhive estate, but nothing more.

Sebastian was accustomed to people not liking him; most found him charming (which he was, of course) and kind (which, of course, he wasn't), but a select few seemed to sense the true nature lurking beneath the courteous facade and reacted unfavorably. Lady Elizabeth's mother and brother, for example. Sebastian wondered if Madeleine had perhaps heard unpleasant things about him from those members of the Midford household. Perhaps it would be prudent to find out.

"If you'll forgive my saying so, Miss Demandols...you've been very quiet. Do you find me unpleasant company?"

A simple shake of the head was the only response, and it was unsatisfactory.

"I hope you will forgive me for any unseemly rudeness."

"Your manner is beyond reproach, sir." She spoke with the simple conviction of truth, but Sebastian sensed a certain reluctance in her. "Perhaps I'm simply awed by the splendour of your master's estate."

 _And perhaps I'm Lord Mayor of London._ "You do us too much honour, Miss Demandols."

A quick glance from those pale eyes before she dropped her gaze to the cobblestones once more. "It seems quite impossible that such a property can be maintained by a mere four servants. However do you manage?"

A fair question, not often asked. Still, Sebastian had a ready answer. "The young Earl values quality over quantity. I assure you, lady, the servants of the Phantomhive estate are most capable."

At this point they were walking close to the back of the manor house. As if to punctuate his statement, there was a terrific bang from the nearest window, blowing out a shower of glass which was followed by a thick cloud of black smoke. Sebastian stopped in his tracks, automatically holding out an arm to forestall his companion's progress as well. From the blown-out window arose a stream of invectives that were not normally used in polite company. Sebastian considered putting his hands over Madeleine's ears, but thought better of it when he remembered her reaction to his offered hand.

As the dust settled, Madeleine looked aside at him and managed a small, wry smile. "Indeed, sir?"

"Oh, dear," Sebastian said with a wave of his hand, "I completely forgot we were passing the kitchen." He gestured Madeleine forward, and they managed to reach the front of the house without further incident.

At the main path he stopped and turned to face her. She halted and looked up at him. Her face was a pretty mask, and he could read nothing in her gaze--unusual, since humans customarily wore their emotions quite plainly. She seemed neither attracted to him nor intimidated by him.

"I find it most curious," he said, "that we've walked together for the better part of an hour, yet I know almost nothing about you."

Her expression did not change. "I am no more than what you see."

"Oh, I rather doubt that."

"Indeed, Mr. Michaelis," she insisted quietly, "I have no need of facades or pretentions to hide my true nature."

Ah, there it was. Distaste, perhaps even the barest hint of contempt. But what was the source?

"And what, exactly, would your true nature be?" He leaned slightly towards her, expecting her to flinch away from him.

She didn't. Her eyes met his directly, with a vague hint of...could it be challenge? "Do you truly wish to know?"

Slowly, deliberately, Sebastian smiled. He took the barest step towards her, bringing his face closer to hers. This time she did flinch a bit, but did not step away. That steady, cool gaze of hers flickered perceptibly. He bent to bring his lips within inches of hers and, ah, yes, there it was. Even if it was against her conscious will, she was responding to his proximity, as most women did. "Come," he murmured, almost a whisper, "will you not confide in me?"

He felt her breath against his lips as she struggled to speak. "I...I am..."

"Madeleine!!"

The spell was broken. Madeleine turned her head and stepped back from Sebastian, looking up the pathway with evident relief. "My lady!"

Sebastian was reminded what homicidal feelings were like, and he only just managed to school his features into complacency before Elizabeth could see the brief snarl on his face.

"I don't mean to interrupt," Elizabeth said, with a barely-suppressed giggle, "but it's time we were leaving. I don't want to tire poor Ciel out; he looks so frail still, and I'm sure he needs his rest." She turned to Sebastian with her hands clasped in front of her. "Sebastian, thank you for taking such good care of Ciel."

He bowed deeply to her. "It was no more than my duty, my lady."

"Oh, nonsense, you can't fool me." Her small hand thumped his shoulder playfully. "You're as fond of him as he is of you."

Still bowing, Sebastian allowed himself a brief, wry smirk. That is almost certainly true.

"Come along, Madeleine!" Elizabeth turned away, completely missing the significant look her maid gave Ciel's butler.

"Farewell, Mr. Michaelis."

Sebastian inclined his head, meeting that frosty glare with a warmth that bordered on dangerous heat. "Au revoir, Mademoiselle," he responded.

He saw the lady and her maid safely to their carriage, then went to the courtyard in search of his young master. He arrived just in time to see the wicker and willow wheelchair tumbled sideways to the marble deck as Ciel shoved it aside in an effort to push himself to his feet. The Earl's hands shot out and grasped the railing as a drowning man might clutch at a floating timber. His feet were planted wide apart, his trembling legs forced stick-straight.

"'You look tired, Ciel,'" he hissed through clenched teeth, an imitation of Elizabeth's solicitous simpering. "'You need rest, Ciel.' 'Are you a cripple, Ciel?'"

Sebastian cleared his throat. "Master...?"

"Stay back," Ciel shot back over his quaking shoulder. "I can do this. I will." He lifted one hand from the railing, swayed on his feet, forced himself steady. "I am Ciel, Earl Phantomhive. I will not show weakness. I will not be pitied." He raised his other hand from the rail, stumbled, but did not fall. His small hands clenched into white fists. "I will stand on my own."

Sebastian watched his master with no small measure of satisfaction. Ah, the Earl's determination was marvelous to behold, and his pride was a thing of beauty in and of itself. His was, indeed, a worthy soul.

Haltingly, but with dogged determination, Ciel half walked, half staggered towards the patio doors. He held onto them for support, but he did not cease his progress. "Sebastian."

He stepped forward at once, ready to lend his aid. "Yes, my lord?"

"Give that wretched chair to Finnian. Have him break it up into kindling. I want it burning in my fireplace. Tonight."

A thin smile. "Yes, my lord."

* * * *

The late summer morning was warm, but a slight breeze was rustling the leaves of the ash and oak trees surrounding the rose garden. Among the opulent white blossoms, a tall figure worked in his shirtsleeves, selecting the choicest flowers and snipping the stems at an angle before placing them carefully in a crystal vase waiting on the stone bench beneath the arbor.

A soft, admiring sigh made Sebastian freeze in mid-motion. His eyes shifted towards the low stone wall, narrowing to crimson slits. "Well, now," he said with perfect cordiality, "to what do I owe this...pleasure?"

The figure on the wall reclined languorously, dangling one long leg over the edge. Long hair the colour of fresh blood swayed softly in the freshening breeze, framing a pale high-cheeked face. Rose-painted lips parted, revealing a mouth full of sharpened teeth. "Hullo, Bassie, darling," Grell Sutcliffe crooned, his tone striving to be seductive and only managing to sound cloying.

Sebastian placed a fresh-cut rose in the vase and straightened, holding the shears loosely in one gloved hand. "And what exactly are you doing here? Don't you have souls to reap?"

Grell flipped his hair carelessly. "We've been so busy in London of late I've accrued too much overtime. Will gave me the afternoon off, so I came to see you." He leapt down from the wall, landing as lightly as a cat, and sauntered over to Sebastian, stopping at a barely respectable distance.

"Lucky me," Sebastian intoned, one eyebrow arching.

If Grell noticed the undertone of sarcasm, he chose to ignore it. "So how are you doing with that insufferable brat you call your master?"

Quicker than even a Reaper's eye could follow, Sebastian raised one long arm and flung the shears point-first. The glittering blades glanced off Grell's cheek, leaving a bright line of blood.

The Reaper screamed, a high thin girlish sound. "Bassie, please! Not my face!" He clapped a black glove to the wound, glaring in outrage.

Sebastian lowered his arm slowly, fixing Grell with a smouldering glare. "I must ask that you not speak so of my young master." His eyes briefly flared with an inner fire, and the pupils narrowed to slits. "It makes me...cross." He stepped back, his eyes returning to their usual deep crimson, the pupils widening once more to a semblance of humanity.

"Oh, Bassie, you wound me," Grell pouted. "In more ways than one." He took out a pink-laced handkerchief and dabbed sullenly at the scratch on his cheek.

Sebastian smiled pleasantly and cocked his head. "Now then...why don't you tell me why you're really here?"

Grell rolled his luminous eyes. "Well...I did try." He heaved a sigh. "William won't like me telling you this...but that br--young master of yours was supposed to die months ago." He took out a small memo book and flipped to a particular page. "Ciel Phantomhive, born 16 December 1875, died 6 May 1889, age thirteen years. Cause of death: drowning, secondary to major blood loss." He looked up from the page. "Only you wouldn't let him go, would you, Bassie? You used your claim on his soul to keep it inside his body."

Sebastian looked back at Grell, his face now an expressionless mask. He made no effort to deny Grell's declaration; neither did he in any way confirm it.

When it was evident that Sebastian would not respond, Grell shrugged and went on. "So, Will sent me here to gather information." He winked salaciously. "What we really want to know is...why didn't you just eat him? Could it be that you've gotten attached to the little bugger?"

This time Grell saw the eyes turn demonic before Sebastian moved. He brought his hands up to protect his precious face from any further missiles, and so he didn't see Sebastian's approach until he felt a hand close around his throat and lift him a full foot off the ground. His breath cut off, he gurgled helplessly, grasping at an arm that felt like a solid steel bar in a vain effort to free himself.

"If you wish to continue discussion on this subject, Grell, I will be happy to do so off the manor grounds." Sebastian's voice had altered. It wasn't deeper, exactly, but it was more intense, more resonant, with no trace of warmth or humanity. It was, quite simply, the voice of a demon. One that wasn't particularly pleased. "However, you would not like the answer to your inquiry. It would be rather final." Sebastian brought Grell's face closer to his own, a proximity the Reaper might have enjoyed if he hadn't been having the immortal life choked out of him. "The business of demons is of no concern to the Reapers. You would do well to remember that."  
  
Grell gasped in a deep breath as the grip on his throat relaxed, then had it rudely expelled from his lungs as Sebastian's foot kicked him squarely in the stomach. (But, oh, it hurt so good...) He was propelled across the garden path and slammed against a trellis hard enough to knock it askew. Usually Grell liked a bit of rough play (after all, his idea of flirting involved chainsaws), but the abruptness of Sebastian's averse reaction was daunting even for him. For the first time since the Jack the Ripper incident, he wondered if Sebastian actually, seriously meant to kill him.

He struggled to his feet, striving to collect himself. "I'm definitely sensing some frustration here," he said, adjusting his glasses. "Tell me this much at least, Bassie...does the boy know this is the second time you've kept him from his scheduled deathdate?"

Again, no answer, but Sebastian's eyes were normal (or at least human-looking) again, and Grell took that as a hopeful sign. He dared to approach a bit closer. "Ciel Phantomhive was scheduled to die three and a half years ago," he said, bending to retrieve his dropped memo book. "His heart cut out, or his throat slit, or something equally unpleasant." He riffled through the pages, failed to find the entry he sought, and impatiently put the book away. "But you showed up and formed a demon's contract with the intended sacrifice. Which means the boy has cheated death twice."

Sebastian just stared at him, not even blinking. The silence was positively unnerving, and when Grell got nervous, he had a tendency to babble. Before he knew it, he heard himself say: "Well, still, they do say the third time's the charm."

That made Sebastian blink. "Third time...?"

Grell clapped a hand over his mouth. "Oh, bugger." He turned on one high heel and leapt for the top of the wall. "Sorry, Bassie, but I really must be going now. Toodles!"

"Grell!" Sebastian took a step after him, but hesitated to give chase. Barring direct orders from his master, the demon would of course be reluctant to engage in an active confrontation with a Grim Reaper.

"I will leave you with some advice, dear Bassie, from one immortal to another," Grell carolled from his perch. "Entanglements with humans tend to get overly complicated." He blew a kiss before turning away. "Take it from someone who's been there. Really, you'll feel ever so much better after you've killed him."

He didn't look back again, which was a pity for his sake, because he would have relished the look of stunned amazement on Sebastian's face.

* * * *

The great desk in the study was covered with a perfect snowbank of letters and notices. One of the more pressing concerns at the moment was the consequences of the ongoing dockers' strike. Although the Fun-Tom Company's shipping lines were not directly involved, the picket lines were interfering with the normal flow of imports, and supplies for the confections factory were beginning to run low. Ciel ran a hand through his already-tousled hair and heaved a sigh of mild frustration. _Damn. It's times like this I really miss Tanaka. He was always better at dealing with the common labourers._ If anyone could go down to the portside docks and manage to negotiate a compromise, it would have been his late (and at the moment, much lamented) house steward, who had also always been the public face of Fun-Tom.

Ciel rearranged the papers on his desk without really looking at them. Three weeks' recovery time had brought back the better part of his strength, but it had also piled yet more work atop him. He had entirely too much to do--not only the current matters, but also catching himself up with the events occurring while he'd been out of pocket, so to speak--but he was having trouble concentrating, and the news about the dock strike was the least of it.

He pulled out two sheets of paper, one of heavy vellum, one of cotton rag. The vellum was of the finest quality, written in a careful copperplate, and bearing the seal of the royal house.

_To the Right Honourable Ciel, Earl Phantomhive:_

_My dear boy, news of your remarkable recovery has reached me and is received with great pleasure. I trust you will soon be well enough to come and visit me again. It would relieve me no end to have a joyful moment in the midst of our troubles._

_I have heard disturbing rumours of unsavoury activities in and around London since the tragic fire which claimed so many lives and caused so much destruction and difficulty. Stories of strange practices and bizarre rituals are spreading throughout the city, connected with the spiritualism communities which have arisen over the past several years. Please do investigate these rumours and return a detailed report as soon as possible, and feel free to take whatever other actions are appropriate to bring the people of London, and myself, peace of mind in this regard._

_Victoria Regina_

Ciel read the letter again, a small wry smirk gracing his mouth. He was perfectly aware that the woman on the throne was no more Queen Victoria than he was Prince Albert, but she certainly mimicked the deceased Queen's handwriting, and even her writing style, well enough. What was even more amusing was the fact that he had been apparently reinstated in his position as the Queen's "guard dog", even though the true Victoria, before her untimely death, had seemed bent on eradicating the Phantomhives altogether. _You were wrong, Abberline. It seems the Queen's guard dog is not yet obsolete._

He laid the "Queen's" letter carefully aside. That business would keep for a day or two. He lifted the other letter and studied its contents. The smile faded from his face, and a small frown-line appeared between his arched brows.

_Dear Lord Phantomhive,_

_I hope you will forgive my impertinence in writing to you directly. I assure you, I would not take such a liberty were it not a matter of extreme urgency. Your Lordship, I fear greatly for my Lady's safety and well-being. I cannot explain the situation in a hastily-written letter. I must speak to you face to face, sir, and at the earliest possible opportunity. I suggest that we meet privately at a neutral location. The Isleham Priory is situated in the woods between the Midford estate and your own holdings. If it is not too much of an indiscretion, I would request that you meet me there tomorrow afternoon at one o'clock. I will take no offence if you are not there, but rest assured that my dear Lady's welfare is of my primary concern, as well as yours. I shall be waiting at the priory. If you do not appear, no more shall be said of the matter. Thank you for your consideration. I remain, most sincerely,_

_Madeleine Demandols_

The letter bore the previous day's date, which meant that Madeleine would be waiting for him that very afternoon. Ciel briefly considered sending Sebastian in his place, since his butler had--it must be owned--a singular way of dealing with women and their secrets. Still, he was all too aware of the fact that Sebastian wouldn't give a tuppenny damn about Elizabeth's safety. In any case, Madeleine had demonstrated obvious distaste for Sebastian, and she might not be inclined to put her trust in him no matter how charming or persuasive he managed to be.

Ciel folded the letter and tucked it into his coat pocket. It was just gone noon now, so if he meant to keep the appointment, he'd have to set off. Sebastian would want to accompany him, of course, but Ciel meant to send him off on the Queen's business, gathering information about these strange cults. He didn't mean to waste much time with Lizzie's maid in any case. He'd find out what concerned her so, and then return home well in time for tea.

* * * *

Isleham Priory stood half an hour's brisk walk from the gates of the Phantomhive estate. Well off the beaten path in every sense of the word, the stone walls of the structure stood deep in the thickest part of the forest, half-hidden by a stand of spreading oak and ash trees. The size of the priory was a bit startling; Ciel found it hard to believe that the Church of England would build such a grand place in the middle of a seldom-traveled wood. Still, that was no concern to him. He straightened his shoulders and walked in straight through the heavy iron-bound doors.

Inside the main sanctuary was all but bare. No pews, no altar, no pulpit, only a few standing brass candleholders which cast a soft glow over the carved stone walls. Again Ciel was struck by the grandeur and craftsmanship, but he dismissed the matter as unimportant. "Madeleine? Madeleine Demandols, are you here?"

The tall, slim figure of the woman appeared at once, stepping from the shadows into a pool of candlelight. "Oh, bless you, sir! I so feared you wouldn't come."

Ciel said nothing as Madeleine approached. She stopped a respectful distance away, clutching her beribboned parasol before her with both hands.

"Your Lordship seems to be in excellent health--"

"Spare me your pretty words," Ciel cut her off curtly. "You said Elizabeth was in danger. Explain yourself."

Madeleine's face became grave. "Indeed my Lady is in danger, sir," she said. "From you."

Ciel blinked. "What?"

The maid squared her shoulders. "Allow me to speak frankly, sir. I am aware of the contract you have forged with a demon, and I also know that said demon is now posing as your butler and going under the name 'Sebastian'."

Ciel's mouth fell open. "But--how--?!"

This time it was Madeleine who interrupted Ciel. "I know more of the nature of such creatures than you can possibly imagine." She leaned forward, her pale blue eyes wide and earnest. "You have a chance of a happy future with the Lady Elizabeth. Sebastian will surely destroy her before allowing such a thing. To protect her--and yourself--you must renounce your pact with the demon. Here and now."

Ciel looked up at her for a long, measuring moment, during which he struggled to maintain his composure. Finally he chose to turn away from her, as though completely disinterested in her revelations. "This discussion is over." He waved a dismissive hand. "Good day."

"Your Lordship, please!" Madeleine called after him. "You must hear me out--"

"I've heard all I wish to hear." He did not turn around or even pause as he headed for the doors. "I've no interest in the hysterical imaginings of a maidservant...particularly one who does not know her place."

A quick flurry of footsteps, and suddenly Madeleine stood in front of him, barring the doors, her arms held out to either side to prevent him going around her. Her face was stern and resolute as she looked down on him. "I beg you, sir, give me a chance to convince--you..." she trailed off as a revolver was thrust into her face. "...Oh."

Ciel glared at her down the barrel of his pistol. "There is only one thing I want to hear from you, woman. The sound of your footsteps as you move out of my way."

Madeleine's eyes flicked to a point over Ciel's right shoulder, and the Earl thought she was trying to distract him until a hand plucked the gun from his grasp. Another hand grabbed his shoulder, and he found himself unable to pull free.

"That will be quite enough, little lord," the owner of the hands said as he pocketed the pistol and wrapped both arms around Ciel's upper body, pinning his flailing arms to his sides. To his sudden outrage, Ciel found himself lifted clear off the floor, his feet kicking uselessly in the air.

"Bloody hell--! Unhand me at once! At once, do you hear?!"

His assailant chuckled, not unkindly, and Ciel turned his head enough to see the rough profile of the vicar who'd been introduced at tea some weeks ago. His identity was confirmed when Madeleine spoke reprovingly to him. "Clement, you were supposed to stay hidden."

"You were in danger, dear lady."

"Nonsense," she snapped, as though having a gun pointed in her face was of no consequence. "Remember our agreement. Under no circumstances is the Earl to be harmed."

Another chuckle from the vicar. "Calm yourself, Madeleine. The Earl isn't being harmed a bit. Are you, little lord?"

"LET ME GO!!" Ciel shouted, putting all the force and power of his station and will into the directive. "I shall have you both horse-whipped!" He continued to struggle and kick, which availed him nothing at all.

"Now, now, little lord, we're only concerned with the saving of your soul," Clement intoned.

Ciel stopped his futile struggling and hung limp in the strong arms which held him fast. "It's too late," he muttered. "I'm already damned."

"Is that what the demon told you?" Clement scoffed gently. "Perhaps that is what it believed to be true...but the Most High is most forgiving. You need only forsake your contract to redeem yourself."

"Never, I have made my choice. Sebastian is mine. Even if he refuses to honour our dark bargain, I will not let him go." Ciel managed to wrench one arm free from captivity, and he reached for his eyepatch. "Sebastian...this is an order." He lifted the silk patch to reveal his right eye, the depths of the once-blue iris marked forever with the pentagram seal of the demon who had saved his life. "Come for me."

The oaken doors swung open at once, and a tall, slim black-clad figure walked in, backlit by the afternoon sunlight. "Ah, here you are, master. Shall we return to the estate?"

Madeleine turned and took a stance in Sebastian's path, raising her parasol to point it at him. "Hold, demon," she commanded, her pretty face settling into a forbidding scowl.

Sebastian chuckled softly. "Oh, my dear," he said, his tone both indulgent and insolent. "If you even suspect my true nature, do you really think you can stop me?"

"Yes." Quicker than Ciel's eye could follow, Madeleine swung the parasol in a wide arc, striking Sebastian full across the face and actually knocking him a step back. Sebastian touched the corner of his mouth, and several drops of dark crimson spattered on the stone floor near his feet. He actually smiled. "Well struck, my lady," he said with genuine admiration. "I suspected you were not quite human..are you ready to reveal your true nature?"

Madeleine raised her head imperiously. "As you wish, demon. Enjoy the sight as best you can. It will likely be the last thing you ever see." A radiant light burst forth from her slight frame, and the shimmering, prismatic colours resolved themselves into the shape of two white-feathered wings. When the light faded, the humble lady's maid was gone. In her place stood a figure fully half a head taller, wearing white armour. Instead of a blue parasol, she held a gleaming sword wider than two handspans and marked with glowing runes.

"Sebastian!" Ciel shouted in warning. "She's like Angela!"

Madeleine--or the creature who had been Madeleine--looked benevolently at him. "I am nothing like the fallen Ashrael," she said. Her voice was both sweeter and more forceful, seeming to ring like church bells off the very stone walls around them. "I am Madrael, in the service of the Lord of Hosts. I was sent to rectify the wrongs committed by my fallen predecessor. The fires that ravaged London...the great amount of suffering...all that should never have occurred, I was charged to set right. Only one task remains unfulfilled." She pointed an accusing finger at Sebastian. "A demon...forging a contract with an innocent child. Ciel Phantomhive would never have committed such a desperate act had his parents not been murdered and violated by Ashrael. The contract itself should not have been formed--a child of ten is hardly accountable for the salvation or damnation of his soul--but the circumstances, and the fallen one's interference, permitted this atrocity. I am here to put an end to it."

Sebastian dropped into a crouch. "How presumptuous of you, my lady. With the power of my master's will to guide me, I am certain to overcome any adversity...even divine intervention."

"That may well be true, demon," the angel conceded. "How fortunate I have no intention of battling you. Now, Clement!"

Immediately the vicar began chanting in Latin. The hair on the back of Ciel's neck rose, and he felt a sudden unaccountable dread. "What--? Stop it!" He began struggling afresh, but Clement continued chanting until suddenly a bluish radiance sprang up around Sebastian, enclosing him in a glowing circle.

Sebastian glanced around, unperturbed. "Well, now...I haven't seen one of these in quite a while. Certainly not from the inside." He leaned down to study the runes which had sprung to life beneath his feet. "I don't recognise the pattern, but the principle is doubtless the same." He traced the figures with a gloved finger. "I believe it was Cornelius Agrippa who last tried to trap me within a binding circle. That was a nasty business...for poor Agrippa." He straightened up and cocked his head charmingly at Clement, then glanced at Madrael. "Fools, the pair of you. To think a handful of mortal scribblings could contain one such as myself." He crouched once more. "Shall I teach you the error of your ways?" He sprang at the angel, and the instant he reached the border of the circle, a wall of blue light sprang up to bar his way. He slammed against it as though into a brick wall, and energy crackled around him, forcing a scream out of him the likes of which Ciel had never heard before. Sebastian collapsed to the floor, twitching in every limb and groaning as if in unimaginable pain.

"Sebastian--!" Ciel lunged forward, straining against the arms holding him. "Leave him alone, you bastards! Stop hurting him!"

Madrael held out a soothing hand towards Ciel. "The demon will suffer no harm if it does not attempt to escape. The ward may only be breached from outside the circle, and the demon's influence cannot cross its boundaries. We may now talk freely."

"You witch!" Ciel snarled at her. "I have only one thing to say to you. Let Sebastian go!"

"Are you so eager to be enslaved, little lord?" Clement asked in a maddeningly gentle way.

"What the hell are you on about?!"

"Your association with the demon has affected your young mind. It has obviously been controlling you in ways you cannot even imagine. While it is sealed within the ward, your will is once more your own. Renounce it. Set yourself free. You need fear no retribution. You may have your life back once more."

Ciel looked over at Sebastian, who was picking himself painfully up off the floor. For a moment, their eyes met, and a single flash of perfect understanding passed between them. Then Ciel smiled. He chuckled. Finally he laughed aloud. Madrael stared at him; Clement froze in amazement; Sebastian merely watched as Ciel Phantomhive laughed and laughed until he was breathless and his ribs ached.

Finally Ciel raised his head and leveled his gaze directly at the angel. "Do you truly think he controls me?" he demanded. "I'm the one who summoned the demon. I'm the one who forged the contract. Even the name he wears, and the form he bears, were of my own choosing. Sebastian Michaelis is mine. He is all I have left in this world...and I will not let him go."

Shaken to his core, Sebastian Michaelis forced himself to his feet. He looked at Ciel with eyes gone slitted and glowing like embers. "Ahh.." he breathed with frank admiration and not a little pride. "Now that is my young master."

"So" Clement shook his head. "You are resolved then, little lord?"

"Stop calling me that," Ciel said sullenly. "Yes. And you needn't have your angel try to alter my decision or change my mind. It won't work."

"I would never do such a thing. The Almighty has decreed that no one may be saved against their will." Madrael sounded both weary and mournful, close to tears. "The choice was always and remains yours, Ciel Phantomhive. Clement.." A resigned sigh. "We have failed. Let them go."

"Not yet, Madrael. There is still one hope remaining." Again Clement chanted in Latin, and another circle sprang up--this one around the angel's feet.

She looked around, startled and disbelieving. "Clement! What..what have you done?"

"That would--ahh!" Clement broke off as Ciel drove an elbow into his jaw.

"Bastard!" he fought to free his other arm, and kicked back at the vicar's shins. "Get your hands off me, you buggerer!"

Clement bared his teeth and drew back a hand. "That will be quite enough out of you." He drove his fist into Ciel's face, knocking him to the floor half-stunned. "Pompous little brat," he grumbled as he took a stance over the prone youth. "I'm going to enjoy this."

"No!" Sebastian reached out, hissing as his hand touched the ward's edge again. "Young master!"

"Clement, stop this!" Madrael cried out at the same time. "You gave your word as a man of God that the child would not be harmed!"

"I lied." Clement knelt over Ciel, working open his coat. "I have been God's man since I was seventeen." The violet wool was difficult to remove, but finally he had it off and cast aside. "I gave up everything--family, wealth, even love--for the glory of the Church." The silk shirt was much easier to remove, torn away and discarded in a moment. "Now I am an old man, with nothing but ashes and gray hair to show for my long and dedicated service." He straddled Ciel, grasping both thin wrists in one hand and pinning them above the Earl's head. Ciel, shirtless and helpless, grunted and shifted under the older man's weight. "Poor, naive angel. You were so sure I would help you. You gave me the runes to ensnare the demon; you never thought I would--or could--alter them to trap you as well."

He bent down, bringing his face close to Ciel's. "I knew you would never release the demon, boy. Why should you? A soul is such a small price to pay for absolute power and control. I shall have to take him from you."

Ciel spat in the vicar's face. "I don't care what you do to me. I shall never give Sebastian up, do you hear?"

"Of course not, child." Clement wiped the wetness from his cheek before reaching into his coat. "That's why I'm going to kill you."

Ciel expected the vicar to produce the pistol he'd taken earlier. He wasn't prepared from something that was--for him--far more frightening.

"Tell me, boy," Clement said in a silken whisper, "do you remember this blade?"

The dagger was about ten inches long, double-edged, with a patina of satiny black from pommel to point. The only decoration was a circular seal on the crossguard...a bas-relief of the same design which had been branded three years earlier on Ciel's ribcage.

The eyes--one blue, one violet--opened wide. "...no..." Ciel could barely hear his own denial; there was no strength to his voice. "...no. Please, no."

"Ah, you know it." Clement admired the crest on the blade as it softly caught the candlelight. "This dagger was meant to take your life. It took me a great deal of trouble to acquire it. Its use now gives a certain irony to the proceedings, but also provides a sense of completion. What was begun three years ago shall be finished here and now."

"Stop it!" Madrael cried out, drawing her sword and charging forward. As Sebastian had done before her, she impacted with a radiant blue-white barrier and was pinned there, screaming, before being flung to the floor.

"Ahh," Clement observed, glancing that direction. "Now the angel tries to save you. Her scream is like music, is it not, boy?"

Ciel barely heard. He had renewed his struggles, desperation giving him renewed strength, but still not enough to break free.

Clement's grip on Ciel's wrists never slackened. "With your death," he continued, undisturbed, "your contract with the demon will be broken. Then I shall forge a new pact with him to secure his release. True, he will be denied your soul, but in return I shall offer him the rarest of delicacies. The soul of an angel. Not one of the fallen, but a true celestial being." He kissed the blade. "And with the power of a Prince of Hell at my command, the Order shall have to accept me into their ranks. Or I shall have my demon destroy them."

The dagger descended, and Ciel screamed.

Sebastian reached out again, the barrier wrapping him in its destructive energies, but he did not draw away. Weak and still wracked with shudders of pain, Madrael looked up and saw that the demon was actually attempting to force his way out of the ward.

Ciel continued screaming as the tip of the razor-sharp dagger inscribed with Ashrael's rune into the flesh of his bare chest.

"Hold still, you little wretch," Clement admonished. "This is precision work."

"Sebastian!" Ciel was beyond orders now, beyond reason, terrified quite literally out of his mind. His cries were thin high shrieks which rebounded off the vaulted ceiling. "Sebastian, help me! Please!!"

"M-mas...ter..." Sebastian redoubled his efforts, even as the energies of the ward coursed through him like raw lightning, tearing at the essence of his very being, threatening to rip him apart.

"Save your breath, boy," Clement admonished, completing the circle around the symbol on Ciel's bloody chest. "You haven't that many left." He raised the dagger high over his head. "I will be a worthy master to the demon, and I will call him by his true name." He aimed the narrow point at the center of the mark carved into Ciel's chest, right over his frantically beating heart. "I shall be served by the Demon Prince Ma--"

"Get. Off. My. Master."

Clement was sent sprawling by a single, brutal kick to his chest which knocked him away from Ciel and sent the black dagger skittering into a far corner. Suddenly released, Ciel pulled his arms down protectively over his bare, wounded breast. "Sebastian...?" He turned over and pushed himself up into a half-sitting posture. "It took you long en..."

The sarcasm withered on his lips when he saw the state his butler was in.

Sebastian had fallen prone to the floor. His tailcoat and suit were untouched, which made the lacerations to his skin all the more horrible to look at. He was bleeding from every opening--his ears, his eyes, his nose, his mouth. His skin was the colour of bleached parchment, but there were almost too many burns and too much blood to tell. Even his hair was singed and smoking. With painful slowness he turned his face towards Ciel, his eyes barely able to focus. "Young master.." Even his voice was rough and scarcely recognisable, as though his throat had been scoured raw. "You are..safe." A ragged, shallow intake of breath. "Perhaps...you should run." He shuddered, convulsed, and his back arched.

Then he simply stopped breathing.

"SEBASTIAN!!" Ciel cried out, reaching for him. There was no response.

"What manner of creature is this?" said a soft, musical voice behind him. "A demon sacrificing its existence for its intended prey...I have never before seen the like."

Ciel's head whipped around, a savage determination on his face. "Angel! You have the power to heal, don't you? Even a demon?" He got to his feet. "You must save--ah!" He had a foot yanked out from under him and fell to the floor again.

"Not so fast." Clement had a hand wrapped around Ciel's ankle. "I am not done with you yet, boy."

Ciel was, however, more than done with Clement. He drove his free foot into the vicar's face, barely noticing the crunch of cartilage as he broke the man's nose. He pulled himself free and made his way to the edge of the ward holding Madrael captive. He reached out, flinching, but the wall of light that sprang up didn't hurt him. He couldn't reach past it, either.

"Ciel," Madrael said, "Are you all--"

"How do I get you out of there?" Ciel pounded a fist against the unyielding force between them. "Tell me! You said the ward could be breached from the outside. Tell me how, quickly!"

Madrael hesitated, but only briefly. Perhaps it was the look in Ciel's eyes that made her answer. "The ward was activated when the demon's blood was shed, and only blood may breach it. An innocent's blood."

Ciel smeared a hand across his wounded chest and slapped his bloodied palm on the bright blue line before him. The light of the ward flared and went out like a snuffed candle.

Ciel sat up, his face grim and determined. "I've freed you, angel, and saved you from the destruction Clement intended for you." His eyes narrowed to slits. "You owe me." He pointed imperiously at Sebastian's unmoving form. "I know you can help him. Do it."

Madrael rose gracefully to her feet, her wings fluttering softly. She stepped past Ciel and stood over Sebastian's prone body. She reached out with delicate hands, as though gathering something that Ciel couldn't quite see. "Such a lengthy record..."

 _She means the cinematic record,_ Ciel realized with a fresh beat of panic. _That only appears when someone's about to--Sebastian--!_

"This demon has lived a long time." Madrael reached up, and back, and to either side, looping the unseen lengths over her arms, pulling them back together. "He has done much cruelty in his life. He has destroyed countless souls and caused untold suffering." With an armful of what Ciel couldn't see, she knelt at Sebastian's side. "But because of a single act of sacrifice, I have no hesitation." She pressed her palms against Sebastian's chest as though tucking something carefully back into place, and Sebastian's eyes fluttered weakly open.

The demon's voice was so feeble, so faint, as though coming from a great distance away. Ciel strained to hear the words. "...please...my lady...see the young master..safely home..."

Madrael kept her hand on his chest and bent over him. "I would not presume, sir. That would be your job, I think. Are you not the Earl's butler?"

She brought her face very close to his and whispered something else Ciel didn't quite catch. He had time to wonder _Is she going to--?_ before she actually did.

She kissed him.

A brilliant burst of light enveloped the angel and the demon, so bright Ciel couldn't bear to look at it. Both forms were obscured by a dazzling radiance, and some force--not damaging, but insistent--drove Ciel back until he was propped against the stone wall. The candles were blown out, and as the light faded, the priory went dim as twilight.

"Sebastian?" Ciel called, but there was no answer. No movement. "Sebastian!!"

"Now, now, there's no need to shout." From the deepest shadows a tall figure emerged, cradling a limp woman in long, black-clad arms. "All is well, master. Quite well, in fact."

A thin shaft of late afternoon sunlight fell on Sebastian's perfect features. In his arms, the angel shifted and moaned weakly. Sebastian looked at her and smiled, a look that might have been taken for affection by those who did not know the butler's true nature.

"I'm ever so grateful for your assistance, dear Madeleine," he said as he dropped her carelessly to the stone floor. "Really," he continued as he stepped over her without looking down, "my gratitude knows no bounds."

He knelt in front of Ciel, head bowed. "Now, young master, what are your orders?"

"Kill Clement," Ciel answered at once. "Destroy him utterly. Let nothing remain--not mind, not body, not soul."

The slitted eyes met his. "Yes, my Lord. Please cover your eyes. You will not wish to bear witness to what is to happen."

Sebastian's voice was already roughening--not with pain, this time, but with power. The room became darker, and black feathers began swirling in the air.

Ciel covered his eyes. He did not see Clement cowering in the corner, but he heard the vicar's desperate pleas. "No...please...have pity...!"

 **"But of course, Reverend Clement."** The cultured tones of the perfect butler had been replaced by the deep, ringing monotone of a heartless creature from the depths of Hell. **"I promise you this: by the time I'm done with you, you will be most pitiable indeed. For the brief time there is anything left of you."**

Ciel had no idea of knowing how long it took, but it was long enough for the air to turn cold...or was that merely the power of the demon made manifest? Clement went from protests to pleas to helpless sobbing. **"Now, really, Clement,"** the demon taunted, over the horrible wet ripping sounds, **"you can do much better than that, can't you? If you scream loudly enough, I might even let you live. Or...no, perhaps that wouldn't be kind enough. How about I'll finish you off quickly?"**

Clement screamed until his voice was gone, and eventually the crunching and wrenching and tearing noises ceased. Ciel kept his eyes covered as he heard the sound of spike heels approaching him. He felt no fear, even before the footsteps changed to the brisk click of dress shoes on aged marble.

"Master?" The velvety tenor again. "Young master, you may open your eyes now."

Ciel raised his face from his hands. It was very dark; nightfall, then, or close to it. He could barely see Sebastian standing before him, crisp and immaculate as always, The twilight was deepening by the moment, but he could see well enough to realise that the walls, the floor, even the ceiling were streaked and smeared with gore--more blood than a human body could have held, surely--yet the butler himself had not a spot on him. "You must be chilled to the bone, my lord." With a slight shrug Sebastian doffed his woolen tailcoat and held it out. "May I offer the use of my coat, sir? It will keep you warm on the way home."

"Home..." Ciel felt suddenly, inexpressibly tired. "Yes, Sebastian. I want to go home."

Sebastian wrapped Ciel in the coat and scooped him up into his arms. "Before we leave, sir, what of the angel?" He glanced where Madrael still crouched, weak and drained and spattered with crimson. "It is unlikely that she will not attempt to interfere with us again. Shall I destroy her as well?"

Ciel looked in the angel's direction. Then he pointed. "You. Hand me my cane."

The skull-headed walking stick lay within reach. Madrael caught it up and offered it to the Earl. "Yes, of course." She sounded very weak, and slightly anxious. "Ciel--Earl Phantomhive," she corrected herself quickly, "are you all ri--"

Ciel took the cane in his hand and, with every ounce of strength he could muster, swung the silver skull at its top across the angel's delicate pouting mouth. She cut off her simpering most satisfyingly, and fresh blood welled from her nose and mouth as she looked up at him in blank shock.

"Shut up and pay attention," the Earl commanded, pointing the skull at her. "For Lizzie's sake, I choose to spare you. She seems fond of you, and I will own that having her under the protection of a proper angel may be beneficial to her." He bared his perfect teeth in a snarl. "But if you ever--ever--again try to separate me from Sebastian, I will order him to destroy you the same way he dealt with Clement." Then the rage seemed to drain out of him, taking the last of his stamina, and he let his head fall against Sebastian's shoulder. "Let's go," he said, clutching his cane against his chest.

"Yes, my Lord." Sebastian turned and walked out of the priory with Ciel in his arms, not sparing a glance for the angel who sat on the bloody floor, looking after them, weeping silently.

* * * *

"Now then, my lord... let us begin by getting you cleaned up." Sebastian lowered Ciel carefully into the tub of steaming water, then took up a cloth. "I fear some scrubbing is in order before I can tend your injuries. Safer that way."

Ciel groaned. "Not again. Haven't we done this bef--ow, OW! Sebastian!" He squirmed as the soapy cloth washed the dried blood from the scratches on his chest. "Are you trying to see how much you can make it hurt?"

"My apologies, but my previous answer still stands, young master. Humans are weak creatures and prone to infection. I cannot guarantee the cleanliness of the Reverend's blade."

"You sound rather disapproving."

"Only where that individual is involved, young master. He was a creature of poor quality and wretched taste." Sebastian smiled thinly at the mild pun. "It was, as I said, the greatest pleasure to make away with him, though I fear I may have more than a touch of dyspepsia later on."

Ciel "hmm"ed, then winced as the cloth passed over his wound again.

Finally, the bath was done, and Ciel was wrapped in a clean nightshirt. Before buttoning it closed, Sebastian made sure to cover his injury with a gauze pad. "A light dressing will be sufficient I think, the cuts seem shallow enough." He pulled back the coverlet of the bed with a brisk motion. "You will find the bedclothes already warmed and ready." He scooped Ciel up and slipped him deftly into the bed, drawing the sheets up over his legs before turning away.

Before he could move out of reach, Ciel caught Sebastian by the wrist. The butler looked back, surprise flickering over his face before he schooled it back into its normal placid expression. "Master?"

"Sit down."

"My lord, is isn't seemly for a servant to--"

"Must I order you, Sebastian? Sit. Down."

"Yes, sir." Obediently Sebastian perched on the edge of the bed. "Does the young master have something he wishes to say?"

"Idiot," Ciel muttered. "If I didn't would I have bothered to..." He sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Never mind."

Sebastian waited politely as Ciel looked off towards the window, to the night beyond. His own words were echoing, as clearly as if he had only just spoken them: _I'm the one who summoned the demon. I'm the one who forged the contract. Even the name he wears, and the form he bears, were of my own choosing. Sebastian Michaelis is mine. He is all I have left in this world...and I will not let him go._

At last, he spoke. "We... have a problem, Sebastian."

"Indeed, my lord?"

"When my revenge was complete, you were to devour my soul." A quick glance upward. "Are you reneging on the contract?"

The answer was immediate. "Indeed not, my lord. It would violate the most profound and deepest aesthetics to do so. Contractees have attempted to break the compact before--the story of Faust springs to mind--but never has the contractor failed to fulfill the terms of a contract."

"Then why do I live?"

"I believe I answered that previously, sir. The time is not--"

Ciel slammed a fist down on the mattress, its impact absorbed by the goosedown cushioning but no less fierce for that. "Why is the time not right, Sebastian? It isn't a lie. You swore you'd never lie to me. But the purpose I needed you for is over. Why are you hesitating? Am I no longer worth the effort? And if I am, why do you stay? Tell me!"

"I.." A long, long silence, during which Sebastian did not look at him. "I cannot, my lord."

He slid off the bed and knelt beside it, hand over his heart, head bowed. Ciel sat up to see him better, but Sebastian did not raise his head even when he spoke again.

"I cannot answer my lord's request. I hunger no less than I always have; yet in the moment when it was finally mine to receive, I could not bring myself to have the feast I longed for. The very thought of it..."

He looked up then, and the expression on the butler's face made Ciel's breath catch in his throat. It was a look he'd never seen before, one he could never imagine, not on Sebastian's carefully schooled features. He looked...anguished.

"Such perfection lost in a moment, lost for all time... though I starve, I could not. I could not."

Ciel studied the unfamiliar look of abject torment on that familiar face, for a long time. Then he smiled softly. "Then we must amend our contract, don't you think?"

"Amend?"

"I'm a businessman, Sebastian. Remember?" Ciel sat up straighter in bed. "When the original terms can't be met, yet neither party wishes to resign, a contract must be altered to each party's satisfaction." He cocked his head, eyes sparkling. "It's quite simple, really."

Sebastian looked surprised again, and then his expression shifted into one that was both proud and...somehow...affectionate. "You never fail to surprise me, my young lord."

He rose to his feet, his form shrouded in gathering shadow. The whole room went dark, an ink-thick blackness relieved only by the golden shimmer of the oil lamp beside the bed. The tall slim form shifted and altered, and deeper darkness in the form of raven-like wings spread out to block the thin starlight beyond the tall windows. The air was filled with a heaviness in which floated a soft riot of feathers that floated and dipped but never quite fell to the floor. Again the echoing, reverberating tone spoke, the true voice of the demon made manifest. **"You have given a great sacrifice. That is already in abeyance, forever lost to you. What else have you to offer, and what is it you desire?"**

Ciel knelt up on the bed, facing the barely-visible shadow before him with respect, but no fear. "The power to decide my own fate."

**"And what is worth that?"**

"You have my soul already. Take all the rest of me. It's all I have left... it's all I ever truly owned. My body, my mind, my... my heart." He touched a hand to his bandaged chest. "It's all yours--do with it as you will. Serve me as you did before, until you decide the contract is fulfilled."

 **"Until I...decide..?"** There was stark wonder in that hellish baritone.

Ciel lowered his head, his fists clenching in the bedsheets beneath him. "I don't know what my purpose is now, but I know I won't find it without you. Stay while I search for the reason why. If I don't find it, or if you tire of my foolishness, then you may choose to declare the contract completed and at an end."

The darkness pressed in on him as the demon stepped closer. **"And shall I take you with me then, at our pact's finale? Alive and whole and screaming into the depths of Hell itself?"**

"Yes." Ciel raised his head, his eyes burning with relentless determination. "Demon! Do we have a contract?!"

A white, black-taloned hand reached out and clasped Ciel's cheek. The touch was ice-cold, the skin smooth as polished granite, yet there was gentleness in that touch, a terrible tenderness. **"Lost to the light for all eternity... Yes, we have a contract... my lord."**

The hand--the one that bore the contract seal--closed over his right eye, and for the second and last time in his life Ciel felt that drilling, wailing, burning white-hot agony that spread from his eye into his brain, searing itself into the essence of his being. It was too much, too hot, too intense for him to even scream. He arched back against the mattress, but he reached up and clasped that cold and stone-smooth arm with both hands, as though encouraging the pain, welcoming it.

He might have blacked out; he wasn't certain. He was only aware, dimly, of the hand being removed, and cool air soothing the searing ache on his face, in his eye. He could smell the coppery scent of his own blood, and feel the wetness on his cheek and temple.

Then a soft cotton handkerchief was wiping very gently at his ravaged eye, cleaning away the blood. He blinked, several times, and then looked up at his butler's face, placid and pleasant, leaning over him. "What..." He swallowed hard, cleared his throat, and tried again. "What's your name?"

"Whatever my master wishes it to be" was the reply.

"Then you are.." A deep sigh. "Sebastian."

The butler--Sebastian--tucked the handkerchief away and knelt before his master. "Very good, sir."

With an effort Ciel pushed himself up into a sitting position. His head throbbed, but the ache was welcome, almost pleasant.

Sebastian looked at him without raising his head. "Now...your orders, my lord?"

Ciel didn't bother to invoke the seal. His head already hurt enough. He simply asked. "Tell me. The angels, the Reapers...why? Why am I so important?"

"Yours is an exceptional soul, master." Sebastian sat back on one heel, looking Ciel directly in the eyes. "One which retains a certain innocence and purity even as it wanders further and further into the abyss. Demons find it the most extraordinary feast. Angels wish to rescue it from corruption, to keep that precious light from being lost. And the Reapers? Well... each soul is unique and irreplaceable, and they demand perfect accuracy in collecting each one."

White-gloved hands reached out and cradled Ciel's face. Dark crimson eyes--eyes that would look brown at a casual glance--studied the young Earl's features with a possessive gentleness that should have frightened the boy...but didn't.

"Yes... irreplaceable... that's you exactly, Ciel Phantomhive. My young lord." The eyes went slitted and glowed with inner fire. "Mine. No other shall have you."

And that, finally, made Ciel happy.

　

_Come on and lay it down_  
 _I've always been with you_  
 _Here and now_  
 _Give all that's within you_  
 _Be my savior_  
 _And I'll be your downfall_

\--Matchbox Twenty, "Downfall"

　

 


End file.
